


Psychology

by dettiot



Series: Core Curriculum [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:59:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after the night before, and everything that happens next.  What do you do when you run into your one-night stand the next morning?  Part of the <b><i>Core Curriculum</i></b> series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And so, after a long delay, here comes another continuation to **Women’s Studies**. This has been a long-gestating fic, and I hope you enjoy this particular ‘what comes next?’ take. Many thanks to andcreation and acheaptrickandacheesyoneline for reading this over and giving me some much-needed reassurance!
> 
> As a FYI, this story got so long that I had to split it into chapters, but both chapters will be posted at the same time.

Once she was in her favorite booth in her favorite diner, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, Felicity hoped she’d stop feeling so strange. As if she had done stuff last night she should regret, which was just . . . impossible. Regret the best sex of her life? No way. That was crazy. 

She took a long swallow of her coffee, looking out the window. Last night was a pretty intense way to start her break, and after she had breakfast she would go back to her room and get started on a movie marathon. With almost no one in the dorms right now, Netflix would be really zippy. And she had a stack of books, and hacking to do, and--

And that all sounded a lot less interesting right now. 

Sighing, she took another swallow of her coffee and looked around. She was the only one in here, so maybe she’d get her chocolate chip pancakes faster than usual. Which was good, because she needed to do stuff. The longer she sat here, the more likely her mind would go back to Oliver, and that was not somewhere she wanted her brain to go. 

“Stupid pretty frat boy,” she grumbled to herself, snagging another sugar packet and pouring it into her coffee. “All . . . kinda nice underneath. And not a complete dick. And amazing in bed.” 

It really wasn’t fair. She had taken one look at him and knew exactly who Oliver was: your typical rich, sheltered, frat boy. A guy whose life was all planned out for him by his parents, down to what house he was going to buy with his perfect wife two years after the big fancy wedding, just before the wife got pregnant. 

For a guy like Oliver, it didn’t matter if he flunked a class, or hell, if he flunked out of college. He already had a place at his family’s company. If he crashed his car, he got a new one. If he cheated on his girlfriend, she would take him back. 

Felicity went still. Fuck. Last night--was she the other woman? Had Oliver cheated on his girlfriend with her? After all, he seemed like the kind of guy who would cheat. She hadn’t even thought to ask if he was dating someone. Some feminist she was. 

Dropping her face in her hands, Felicity took a deep breath before running her fingers through her hair and pushing it back. Okay, it wasn’t like she knew if she was the other woman or not. She just had to hope she wasn’t. And maybe do something good, in hopes of balancing things out. Like taking a few thousand bucks from Donald Trump and giving it to Planned Parenthood. 

“Chocolate chip pancakes?” 

“Thank God,” she said, grabbing the plate out of the waitress’s hands and setting it down in front of her. She took the jug of maple syrup and liberally dumped syrup over her pancakes. 

Right now, she needed her comfort food. And chocolate chip pancakes fit the bill. After a few nearly-too-large mouthfuls, she was able to slow down and savor her breakfast, eating smaller bites in between sips of coffee. And with food in her stomach and caffeine in her veins, she started getting some perspective. 

Even though it sucked that she didn’t know if she had indirectly hurt some other girl, she didn’t need to get all worked up about this. It wasn’t like she was starting some kind of relationship with Oliver. That was the _last_ thing she wanted. Yes, it had been the best sex of her life--but in that ‘catching lightning in a bottle’ kind of way. She hadn’t been acting like herself, Oliver was doing his best to act like a douche but wasn’t really succeeding, and what were the chances their paths would cross again? He went to BC, after all, and she rarely left MIT during classes. 

It was okay. So what if Oliver wasn’t what she pigeonholed him to be? It didn’t matter. She was never going to see him again, which was a loss, but only because of the sex. That was the only reason. 

And she was going to enjoy the last of her pancakes and get a refill on her coffee before she went home and got her break started. 

Yeah, that was good. 

But all of a sudden, all those plans and all those resolutions went out the window. Because through the window, she could see Oliver walking along the sidewalk. A backwards baseball cap wasn’t enough to hide who he was from her. He was dressed in khaki shorts, a dark blue polo shirt that did really nice things for his arms, and--

Were those fucking _boat shoes_? God, they were so preppy, yet on Oliver, they worked. Which wasn’t fair at all.

Wait--he wasn’t coming in here, was he? 

No. There was no way in the universe for him to come to the same diner as she did. It didn’t matter whether it was his normal breakfast spot or just a coincidence that he was walking by this diner today. He wasn’t coming inside. 

_Chill out, Smoak_ , she told herself, even as she slid down in her booth, trying to be unnoticeable. 

But she was out of luck. Because the jerk, through some weird bit of chance or luck, glanced towards the window as she was moving, and she caught his eye, and then their gazes were locked on each other and . . . 

_Oh, shit._

XXX

Considering the amazing, mind-blowing sex he had enjoyed the night before, Oliver hadn’t counted on waking up alone. But that was how he started his last day in Boston: waking up alone. Which made his crappy mood even worse. 

And it wasn’t even missing the physical stuff that made today feel shitty--although, _damn_ , Felicity had given him the best blow job of his life. The way he had passed the fuck out afterwards was proof enough of that. 

No, it had been more than the sex itself. It had been the feelings. The feelings he was still struggling with, the feelings that made him ditch packing and head out, walking distractedly over the Charles River and then wandering around on the edge of MIT’s campus. Not exactly someplace he had spent a lot of time--nerd chicks did nothing for him. But . . . Felicity was smart. Maybe she went to MIT. 

Jesus, what the fuck was he doing? He should be getting ready to leave. His flight back to Starling City was at four, and he needed to get some of his shit thrown into his suitcase, so he’d have the important stuff while he waited for everything else to be shipped. 

Sighing, Oliver hung his head a little, letting go of his frat boy posturing. Because he knew that was what it was. He was just playing a part. Being Ollie the frat boy. Giving people what they expected. 

Because it was the best way of keeping anyone from getting too close. From seeing him and starting to throw around words like ‘potential’ or ‘commitment’ or ‘expectations’. 

Before last night, he had been ready to go home and slide back into his old life. Partying with Tommy, ducking his parents’ demands, trying to get Laurel’s forgiveness yet again. But none of that seemed all that great anymore. It seemed lame. Boring. 

And for the first time in his life, Oliver was asking himself what he wanted instead. If he wanted something . . . different. More. 

Rolling his shoulders, Oliver shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts, looking around. His stomach rumbled, protesting his decision to skip breakfast in favor of wandering around like some fucking poet or something. He should get some food. 

He saw a Starbucks ahead on the corner and headed towards it, walking past a dingy-looking diner. But just before he reached the Starbucks, he glanced through the diner’s plate-glass window and literally stopped in his tracks. 

Because Felicity was sliding down in a booth on the other side of the glass, clearly trying to hide from him. But when their eyes met, she stopped moving. Stopped doing anything except staring at him. 

Jesus, her eyes were even bluer than he had remembered. And even though her walk of shame had taken a break for pancakes, she still looked good. Hot. 

Forgetting Starbucks, Oliver turned and walked back to the door of the diner. When he pulled it open, a bell clanged. Even from here, he could see Felicity cringe as he walked towards her. Which . . . why didn’t she want to see him? The sex had been good--really, really good. And he thought they had a lot of fun. So why was she acting like the two of them bumping into each other like this was so fucking tragic? 

As he moved towards her, Oliver wracked his brain for something to say. Something smart, witty, like some guy in those old movies that Laurel liked to watch with his mom. But he couldn’t come up with anything, so he finally settled on “Hey.” 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” 

“What?” Oliver’s forehead wrinkled from the confusion as he looked down at her.

Her lips pursed. “It’s not a hard question. Do you have a girlfriend?” 

“No, it’s not hard, but--I don’t get why you’re asking,” Oliver said, folding his arms over his chest. And not missing how her eyes flicked down to his biceps before she went back to looking angry. 

“I wanna know if I should feel guilty about messing up some poor girl’s relationship with you,” Felicity retorted. 

“Sit down or leave, kid,” the waitress said as she stepped up to the booth, refilling Felicity’s coffee cup. 

Not needing to be told twice, Oliver slid into the booth, his long legs knocking into Felicity’s knees as he got settled. Felicity glared at him and Oliver managed to hold back his grin, waiting for the waitress to walk away before answering her question. 

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend. She dumped me last week, so I was going home to Starling City and try to get her back. Again.” 

“Again?” Felicity’s eyebrow arched skeptically. “She’s broken up with you before and you’ve gone crawling back?” 

“Hey,” he said, feeling annoyed. “I didn’t have to tell you. I coulda let you stay all guilty. But you asked and I told you.” 

“Sorry,” she said, looking down at her coffee cup, her attitude one of embarrassment. 

He blew out a breath, his annoyance evaporating. “It’s okay. You’re kinda right. I mean, me and Laurel . . . we always end up back together, somehow.” 

Felicity had lifted her gaze when he started talking, her head tilting to the side. And it made Oliver keep going. “She wants more for me. She wants me to be better. To be someone she’s proud of.”

“Then why is she with you at all?” 

“Huh?” he asked, frowning at her. 

“I’m just saying,” she said, shrugging her shoulders a little before lifting her mug for a sip. “I don’t know that I’d go into a relationship thinking I could change the guy. If I wanted someone different, I’d be with someone different, you know?” 

XXX

The minute the words were out of her mouth, she was internally cringing. Because that was a little _too_ blunt. Especially with how Oliver’s face was now doing a really good marble statue impression. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, downing a large swallow of her coffee and moving to get out of the booth. “I should just get out of here and let you have breakfast, and we can go back to the plan of being two strangers again.” 

She was digging in her pocket for her emergency twenty--even though it would be giving the waitress a way-too-generous tip, she was willing to do it just to get out of here--when Oliver’s hand wrapped around her wrist, an electrical charge shooting up her arm.

“No, stay.” 

“What?” she asked, staring at him. 

Now it was his turn to shrug. “Stay. You’re not done with your coffee and I’ve got a question for you. Since I answered yours, it’s only fair I get a question of my own.” 

What the hell was going on? Why was he asking her to stay? And why was she considering it? 

_The electricity, stupid!_ her body told her. 

_If you have to ask, I wash my hands of you_ , her brain chided.

Oliver was still holding her wrist. And she was curious about this question of his, so . . . 

“Okay . . .” she said slowly, sliding back into the booth. “What’s your question?”

“You know the joke about the light bulb?”

Felicity’s eyebrows drew together. “Could you be more specific?” 

To her surprise, Oliver suddenly smiled. She hadn’t been expecting it--she hadn’t been prepared for that. Because Oliver Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was had a really nice smile. It wasn’t a leer or a grin or a smirk. It was just a smile, but it was really, really nice. 

“‘How do you change a lightbulb?’ ‘Well, first, the light bulb--’”

“‘Has to want to change’,” Felicity said, in unison with Oliver. 

“Yeah, that,” he replied, taking off his cap and running his fingers through his hair before sliding the hat back on. “What if I wanted to change? To show people that I could be different?” 

So she didn’t speak without thinking again, Felicity lifted her mug and took a few slow sips, mulling over his words. Because it wasn’t like he couldn’t stand changing. Everyone could--change was a necessary part of life. If she hadn’t wanted to change, to be different, she would be in Las Vegas, right now, trying to carry a drinks tray in five-inch heels. 

But . . . it seemed like Oliver was going about this ass-backwards. Because he wasn’t thinking about changing for himself--it was clearly about getting his girlfriend back. Which seemed like setting himself up to fail, because it was change that would stick. After a while, Oliver would go back to his old ways and Laurel (Felicity bet she was really classy and elegant and liked wine, based on her name alone) would be left with no choice but to dump him again. And there they would be, back in their old patterns.

Although who knew? Maybe it was just coincidence. Because . . . last night, Oliver hadn’t seemed too happy with his life. There had been something about him, something that made her think he wasn’t what he seemed. He could have been wanting to change, and seeing her like this--maybe it was inspiring him to make it happen. Because he might look at her and want--

Giving herself a good shake, Felicity told herself to stay far away from anything involving Oliver and herself. She set her coffee cup down and looked at him. 

“If you want to change, you should change,” she said. “You just need to figure out what you’re gonna do differently.” 

For a moment, Oliver looked stumped, then he snapped his fingers. “School.” 

“What do you mean?” Felicity asked, raising her eyebrows. 

“BU was my fourth school in three years,” he said. “But if I really buckled down in the fall--” His face fell. “That’s months away.” 

“There’s summer classes,” she pointed out, even as she wondered why she was helping Oliver. Why she was helping her one-night stand figure his life out. 

He wrinkled his nose but nodded. “Yeah . . . I could do that. Okay, yeah. I’m gonna do that.” 

She smiled at him a little. “Good for you.” 

Huffing out a laugh, he leaned forward, his forearms braced against the Formica table of the booth. “Y’know, I didn’t think this was how this morning was gonna go.” 

“What, not used to a girl blowing you and then leaving while you slept?” Felicity closed her eyes. “Can we please both forget I said that?” 

When Oliver didn’t say anything, she opened one eye sheepishly. He was staring at her, like he was trying to look inside her, and it made her tense up. A lot.

But finally, he gave a jerky little nod. “Yeah, exactly. So . . . what’s your story?”

“My story?” she countered, sipping her coffee and making a face at its lukewarm temperature. 

Oliver turned and waved over the waitress. “Some more coffee for her, and I’ll take some, too. Oh, and bacon and eggs with a short stack, please?” The smile he gave her was so charming and warm, Felicity wasn’t surprised to see the old grump soften and almost smile back. Without so much as a sarcastic comeback, the waitress topped off Felicity’s coffee and poured a cup for Oliver before heading over to the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Felicity demanded, this whole situation getting way too _Twilight Zone_ for her. She wanted to get the hell out of here, far away from Oliver and how damn comfortable this whole thing was, which was the most _Twilight Zone_ part of it. 

“I’m getting breakfast, ‘cause I’m starving,” he said blithely. “And I’m gonna pay for yours as a thank you--since that blow job definitely deserves a real thank you,” he stated, smirking at her as her cheeks went pink. Felicity kicked him under the table and he laughed. 

“I’m being serious, Oliver--what are you doing?” she bit out. 

XXX

It was a good question. Just what was he doing? Because he was pretty much flirting with Felicity, when he had just talked about making changes in his life. And since Felicity was clearly really fucking smart, she had to be thinking he wanted to change to get Laurel back. But it wasn’t quite flirting, what he was doing with Felicity. After all, they had already had sex. It wasn’t like he was trying to get her into bed.

Not that he would mind if they wound up there again . . . 

Giving his head a shake, Oliver focused. “Look, I don’t know anyone in Boston,” he began. “And even if I did, everyone’s going home for the summer. And yeah, I could go back to Starling City and take classes there, but then everyone would be watching all the time, just waiting for me to screw up. My parents, the press--but if I stayed here, though . . .” 

He let his voice trail off. When Felicity kept looking confused, he frowned. “What?”

“The press?” she asked. “Who the hell are you?”

For some reason, her direct question made him laugh. Because who else would just come out and ask like that? Who else would call him on his shit like this tiny little Goth? 

Although he was _definitely_ gonna enjoy blowing her mind. He waited a moment, watching her impatience grow, and then he leaned forward. In a low, seductive voice, he said, “I’m Oliver Queen.” 

Her reaction was not what he was expecting.

First she looked shocked, her eyes going wide and her lips parting. But almost immediately, she pressed her lips together and her eyes narrowed. “Oh, great.”

She sounded . . . annoyed? No, that wasn’t it--it was disdain in her voice. She sounded like her opinion of him had immediately soured. 

And why shouldn’t it have? She was smart: she must have heard about all the stunts he had pulled over the years. Felicity was going places--she wouldn’t want to waste her time on a guy like him. He was fooling himself that she might want to help him, that she would give a fuck about him. He should just get out of here. 

Staring at her face, though, Oliver felt a strange sensation grow inside himself. A kind of determination. Getting up and leaving now--it would be easy. Just the kind of thing Ollie would do: cut bait when it got too hard. 

But he wanted to change. He wanted to not be Ollie anymore. So maybe . . . maybe he shouldn’t let her write him off so easily. 

“If I stayed here, I could learn a lot easier. There wouldn’t be my old friends calling me up, getting me to go out partying the night before an exam. I wouldn’t have to deal with my parents second-guessing me.” 

Oliver didn’t know if this was going to change Felicity’s mind. At least she was looking less scornful and more thoughtful now. Almost sympathetic. “Okay, I get what you’re saying,” she said. “So you wanna stay here.” 

“Yeah,” he said, watching as she lifted her mug of coffee. “For all those reasons . . . and because you’re here.” 

Felicity snorted into her mug, looking at him with wide eyes and coffee dripping from her chin. “What?”

With a small grin, he grabbed some napkins out of the dispenser and handed them to her. When he had met her, Felicity had been all anger and sass. They were walls that kept people away. Now that she had let those walls down, he could see just how adorable she was. She might not want anyone to realize it--the hair and the attitude helped to hide it--but he could see it. 

He liked her. In a way he had never liked a girl before. Sure, Felicity had been hot in bed--better than Laurel, he acknowledged, which felt disloyal but truthful. But more than that . . . he liked being around her. He couldn’t put his finger on why exactly, but if he was going to stay in Boston for the summer, he couldn’t think of anyone better to spend his free time with than Felicity.

She wiped the coffee away from her chin, her cheeks pink. But her eyes were snapping when they met his. “So what did you mean by ‘And you’re here’?”

Shrugging, Oliver leaned forward again. “I can tell you’re crazy smart. You’d be a good study buddy.”

“As opposed to a fuck buddy?” she retorted tartly. 

It was on the tip of his tongue to give her a line. About how that would work, too. But for some reason, he held back. Wanting to commit to this. To changing, to being different. Even if her lips were pursed in a way that made him remember how she had looked before he had kissed her for the first time. But if he was going to change--if he wanted to figure out if Laurel fit in his new life--he had to focus on taking summer classes and getting good grades. And he needed Felicity for that. 

“Look, I’m not angling for anything here,” Oliver said, trying to sound really firm and resolute. “This is gonna be hard and I could use someone to give me a hand with my classes. Maybe to hang out with sometimes.” 

“Hang out?” 

Jesus, why did she sound so shocked that he wanted to spend time with her? Did she not have any friends? She was cute and smart--what the fuck were the people at MIT or wherever she went doing, studying all the time? 

“Yeah, hang out,” Oliver replied. “Go to Sox games, get dinner, shit like that. Have fun.” 

“I know what you mean,” she said testily. 

“Okay. Then are you in?” 

He went to hold his hand out to her, only for the waitress to plop down his breakfast, so he had to lean back and wait. His stomach rumbled at the smell of greasy diner food--but he didn’t make a move towards the food. Instead, he extended his hand towards her. 

“Felicity, you in?” 

It was easy to see her hesitation. She thought he was giving her some line, or that he’d change his mind and blow her off. Oliver got that. But this time was different. Laurel thought he was a screw-up. Felicity had called him a frat boy. If both a stranger and his on-again off-again girlfriend of several years thought he was a waste, then the whole world must see him like that. And for some reason, Oliver Queen was done with being a waste. 

Finally, with a tiny sigh, Felicity reached out and took his hand. Her soft, smooth skin against his rougher palm made him tingle as she shook his hand. “I bet I’ll regret this, but sure, okay. Why not?” 

Oliver grinned widely at her. “No, you won’t. Felicity--hey, what’s your last name?” 

She blinked and then gave her head a shake. “Smoak. Felicity Smoak.” 

“Well, Felicity Smoak, get ready for the best summer of your life,” Oliver said, pumping her hand one more time before letting go. “Because you just became friends with Oliver Queen.” 

XXX

Oliver was right and wrong. She did regret going along with his crazy plan to be friends, but not because of why she thought she would. And after only three weeks, she had to admit that she was having the best summer of her life. 

It shouldn’t have surprised her, but Oliver moved fast. After they had breakfast and exchanged numbers, she was half-prepared for him to forget, to give up and go back to Starling City and return to his rich boy ways. Since, after all, he was Oliver freaking Queen, heir to billions and tabloid favorite. How she hadn’t recognized him, she would never know, but then, it was her mom who had the addiction to _People_ and _Us Weekly_ and the _Star_. Felicity had always avoided those magazines, since she had better things to read. 

But everyone knew who Oliver Queen was. And now . . . he was her friend. 

A friend who had called her the day after their breakfast, asking her to help him pick out his classes at Harvard. Because when you were Oliver Queen, you could make that kind of thing--getting admitted to Harvard--happen within twenty-four hours. 

So they met at the diner again, and over a long dinner, they picked out his classes. 

“No, Oliver, you can’t take more than two courses.”

“No, Oliver, you should take something you’re gonna enjoy.” 

“No, Oliver, you are not being a slacker for avoiding 8:30 classes. I hate them, too.” 

He was stubborn and determined, a combination that Felicity hadn’t expected to see in him. But it was also nice. To realize that there was more to him than cheesy lines and major sexual talent. 

It made her wonder what else she had been wrong about. About him and about other things.

Once his classes were figured out--he was taking psychology and microeconomics--Oliver proved that he had meant all of what he had said, that first morning in the diner. Because he immediately produced tickets to the Red Sox game that Saturday. 

“The Sox are actually kicking ass, so it should be a good game. I even pulled some strings and got us seats on top of the Monster.” 

At her blank stare, Oliver had looked confused. “You know, the Green Monster? The wall in left field? You do know what Fenway looks like, don’t you?” 

Feeling flustered, she snapped out, “Not all of us have the money to see games in person.” And then she wished the ground would open up under her feet, because the last thing she wanted to do around a billionaire was make it seem like she was broke. She _was_ broke, of course--she was on scholarships and couldn’t handle a part-time job with her course load. But she hadn’t wanted Oliver to know that. Hadn’t wanted to deal with that subject. 

To her surprise, Oliver just shrugged. “Well, now you will. C’mon, Felicity, it’ll be fun.”

She should have protested some. Set limits on their interactions, by saying she would pay her own way or telling him that he couldn’t just buy her stuff. But something about that felt tacky. Oliver had done something nice by buying them tickets to the game. He had said he didn’t know anyone in Boston, and it wasn’t like she had people banging down her door, looking to hang out with her. 

Perhaps what swayed her the most was her belief that this wasn’t some plan for him to get her back in his bed. Which was even more confusing and challenging than being friends with a billionaire. Because he clearly was still attracted to her--as much as she was attracted to him, if she was honest with herself. The way her skin tingled whenever his hand brushed hers or her shoulder nudged his proved that there was a physical connection between them. Their bodies naturally gravitated towards each other. So of course she wanted to have sex with him again, but that wouldn’t be happening.

 _It was more than just sex_ , her heart reminded her. 

Felicity pushed aside that foolish, romantic notion. It was misguided and dangerous to think about that, with Oliver sitting beside her, eating a hot dog and making jokes about the Red Sox playing the White Sox. 

That first game had started a tradition. At least twice a week, they would head over to Fenway, sitting in a different section of the park every time. They usually split the costs for their food and beers, coming to an understanding that Felicity would pay what she could and Oliver would cover the rest.

So now, here they were at Fenway, the late June sun shining down on them and making Felicity glad she had worn shorts to the game today. And not only because she had noticed Oliver sneaking glances at her legs. 

No. They were just friends now. That was all. And it was . . . nice. To have a friend like Oliver, who was surprisingly loyal and fun to be around. They didn’t just do Red Sox games. There were afternoons studying in the library at Harvard or MIT, with the occasional study break to clean out the vending machines. Then there were long, leisurely breakfasts on Sunday mornings, taking up “their” booth in the diner, drinking the super-strong coffee as she marveled at how much Oliver could eat while looking like he did.

And now, it was three weeks later and they were just friends. Really friends. And Oliver was actually studying on his own, and they were spending time together, and . . . 

It had to be enough. Wanting anything more was just being greedy. And besides, Oliver wasn’t going to make a move on her. She had spent the first week watching and waiting, but by the end of that seven days, she had conceded that he really did want to change, and that meant ignoring the attraction between them. Denying herself that physical outlet.

“God, I love this.” 

Felicity’s head whipped around. “What?” she squeaked. 

“This!” Oliver said, gesturing around them. “I love this. Bein’ outside, fresh air, sun shining on us . . . “

“If you like being outside so much, why do you always fall asleep when we study on the Common?”

Oliver shot her a look. “That’s different.” 

Well, she had to give him that. Smiling a little, she took a sip of her beer, neatly provided for her by Oliver, then shifted in her seat, propping her feet on the seat in front of her. 

“I like the shorts,” Oliver said, knocking his knee against her leg and sending sparks through her limbs. “And they’re not black! They’re an actual color!”

“I do wear clothes that aren’t black,” Felicity pointed out, her voice a bit testy because of said sparks. 

“Dark purple doesn’t count as not-black,” Oliver countered. 

Rolling her eyes, Felicity ran her eyes over him. “And I should take fashion advice from a guy who pops his polo collar?”

“At least I wear colors,” he said with a grin.

“I don’t think dark green is that different from black, either,” Felicity replied, a grin of her own spreading across her face as she tugged on the sleeve of Oliver’s polo. Because it was one thing to know Oliver could keep up with her when it came to sexy banter. But the fact that he was just as good at regular banter? Well, it was fun. 

“All I’m saying is, the black doesn’t really suit you,” he said. 

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “You think so?”

“Yep,” he nodded. “And your underwear proves me right.” 

Her mouth dropped open. Her eyes darted to her shoulders, confirming that yes, she was wearing a top with sleeves, meaning her bra straps weren’t visible. She lifted her gaze back to Oliver’s, who was suddenly looking anywhere but at her. As if he had realized he had said the wrong thing. 

“What do you mean, my underwear proves you’re right?” she asked slowly, not entirely sure she wanted to ask the question--or to hear his answer. 

Oliver’s attention was very purposefully fixed on the scoreboard. He didn’t say anything, his body very still, and then, he sighed. “Because that night, your bra and panties were bright purple.”

From the way his shoulders were tensed, from how he wouldn't look at her, Oliver definitely seemed to be regretting his words. Wishing he could take them back, Felicity thought. 

But she didn't want him to take them back.

Why was she denying what she wanted? Getting to know Oliver better hadn't changed the fact that he was hot and the best sex she'd ever had. Yeah, it could be risky, having sex with a friend, but . . . but how long would it be before they'd end up in bed anyway? Their chemistry was just too good--they were both too aware of just how good the other looked naked--for them to stay as only friends.

Oliver had opened the door. She was ready to walk through it. The question was, was he ready, too?

XXX

_Shit. Shit shit fuck shit damn._

What the hell was he doing, talking about that night? They had both agreed, without ever talking about it, to not bring up the night they met. Because going there meant facing something that neither of them wanted to face.

It was her legs, though. More specifically, her thighs. Smooth and pale, slightly toned from all the walking around Boston, Felicity's thighs were works of art. From the moment he had seen her at the T stop this morning, seeing her walk towards him in that pair of purple shorts, Oliver had been thinking of little else. 

Because he had been up close and personal with those thighs. Could remember how soft her skin had been against his cheeks as he ate her out. And remembering that little detail made him remember everything. The noises she had made, the taste of her juices against his tongue, the way her nipples had darkened to a dusky pink after he sucked on them . . . 

For the last three weeks, he had somehow managed to keep her in the friend box in his mind. Teasing her like he joked around with Tommy or Thea, seeking her approval like he tried with his parents, but being serious with her like he was with no one else.

She was a better friend than he'd ever had . . . and he had just fucked it up by talking about her underwear. By talking about the night they had shared together.

Why wasn't he satisfied with Felicity's friendship? Why did he want more? When he was trying to change, by actually studying and doing his assignments, by being friends with a woman instead of nailing her and never seeing her again--why was he throwing it all away?

“Wow, three weeks of not being a playboy and you just lose all your game.”

Oliver's head jerked up, Felicity's voice snapping him out of his mental spiral. “What?”

Felicity was biting her lower lip and clearly holding back a smile. Her eyes were sparkling with amusement as she shrugged her shoulders. “I'm just surprised. I remembered you being better at the lines. Not that you were all that good, but you were better than this.”

That was . . . very flirty for Felicity. But it didn't seem like her. After all, she had told him not to play games when they met, all opinionated and judgemental. And here she was, feeding him a line of her own, practically challenging him to respond to her flirtation. But she also didn’t seem upset about him bringing up that night--she was encouraging him to act more like a guy who was attracted to her than a guy who was her friend--and Oliver was damned if he wouldn't take this chance.

He shifted in his seat, turning towards her and leaning in. Her breath caught ever so slightly as his knee came to rest against hers. Oliver lifted his arm, draping it over the back of her seat. “Why bother with lines, when the direct approach worked so well last time?”

Her eyes widened for a moment, then she rolled her eyes. “At my prompting,” Felicity countered, a small smirk of a smile appearing on her face. “If it wasn't for me, you'd still be standing at that frat party, trying to score with some girl in yoga pants and a spaghetti strap cami.”

“Good thing I knocked you over the keg,” Oliver replied, letting his hand come up and cup the back of her head.

As his fingers lightly stroked her scalp, he sensed Felicity leaning in towards him. Giving him signals. Making it clear that she wanted him to kiss her.

And God only knew how much he wanted to kiss her. 

When their lips met, it was slow and unhurried. Oliver’s eyes closed, taking in the delicate pressure Felicity exerted, the drugging heat of her mouth. Their lips parted at the same moment and Oliver slid his tongue into her mouth, greedy for her. There was a hint of the hot dog she had eaten at the start of the game, the yeasty flavor of the beer she had been sipping, but underneath that--there was Felicity, the flavor his taste buds had been craving ever since their last kiss. 

A craving, a hunger, that he hadn’t been able to sate. Not until right now. 

She let out a soft whimper against his lips and then reached out, fisting her hand in his polo shirt, pulling him closer but not close enough. His arm around her tightened, while his other hand fell to her knee, stroking her thigh, his fingers running along the inside of her leg, taking in all of her softness--

“Yo, buddy, bet her tonsils taste wicked awesome, but I wanna get to my seat.” 

Pulling back from Felicity, Oliver couldn’t help glaring at the guy who had interrupted them. The guy at least looked a bit sheepish, but he also didn’t back down at Oliver’s glare. 

Felicity popped up, tugging on Oliver’s hand. “C’mon, Oliver, let the guy get to his seat.” 

Only the fact that Felicity hadn’t apologized for blocking the guy’s way, and sounded like she wasn’t happy about the interruption, kept Oliver from prolonging the stare-down. He rose to his feet, still holding Felicity’s hand as he allowed the guy past. Once the guy had moved along the row towards his seat, Oliver stayed on his feet instead of sitting down. Felicity gave him a confused look from a half-crouched position, her lips red and slightly puffy from his kisses, and Oliver felt a rush of pride. He had done that. 

And he was going to do it some more. 

“Come with me,” he said, pulling her back up. Her confusion deepened, but she followed him as he headed up the steps towards the concourse, his eyes searching for something that he would know when he found it. 

A small, dark corner, near a janitor’s closet, was it. Oliver pushed Felicity back into the corner and covered her mouth with his. 

Her hands flattened against his chest, pushing him back. “Oliver--”

“Tell me this isn’t what you want,” he asked, searching her face. “I want this, Felicity. I want you.”

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip and he wanted to moan. No, he wanted to have _his_ teeth in _her_ lip, wanted to devour her mouth and make _her_ moan.

“You wanna do this in public?” she asked, looking up at him with an arched eyebrow. Her hands started sliding over his chest and abs, spreading fire wherever her fingers touched. 

“Felicity,” he gritted out, lowering his head. Kissing her hungrily, not caring if anyone noticed them, if someone took photos of them, just as long as no one interrupted them again. 

She slid her arms around his waist, pulling him in against her body. He held on to her hips as he kept kissing her, nipping lightly at her lower lip. Felicity let out a soft gasp, her hands moving up to grip his shoulders. “Oliver . . .” she breathed out, the sound of her voice so sexy and amazing. “God, you’re so hot.” 

Reaching down, he wrapped his hand underneath her knee, feeling the soft sweatiness of her skin and imagining her feeling like that all over. As much as he wanted to lift her up and have her wrap her legs around him, that would be way too obvious. So he just lifted her leg up and held it to the side, enough for him to maximize the contact of his fabric-covered cock with her fabric-covered pussy. 

And then he slowly ground against her. 

“Fuck!” she hissed, arching to meet his movements. 

Oliver felt a smile, a giddy, relieved smile, appear on his face. 

He wasn’t the only one who wanted this. 

XXX

How had she not exploded? Felicity didn’t know. But if Oliver wasn’t able to touch her and soon, it was definitely going to happen. She was _that_ desperate.

They had only enjoyed five minutes of making out when a security guard had tapped Oliver on the shoulder and advised them to go home or they would be told to leave. Neither of them had argued with the guard; Oliver had just grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the nearest exit. But she had to yank her hand free of his, because the contact was just too painful with how she was already hovering on the edge. 

Oliver, thank God, seemed to understand. He gave her a bright, manic grin and said, “Who’s closer?”

“Yours,” she said quickly, walking as fast as she could to keep up with his long legs.

Nodding, he lifted his arm and hailed a cab. Normally she’d tell him not to waste his money, that the T was fine, but not today. Not when she was squeezing her thighs together, not when she was half-convinced anyone walking past would be able to smell the fluids leaking from her pussy. 

Jesus, what did Oliver do to her?

The drive to Oliver’s apartment was only fifteen minutes, but it felt like an eternity, an aeon. They didn’t touch in the backseat of the cab, both of them too much on edge. Because if they started, they wouldn’t be able to stop.

But the minute they were in his apartment, her back hit the door and Oliver was kissing her like his life depended on it. His hands were everywhere, he was everywhere, and Felicity felt utterly dominated by him, in a way she had never felt before. 

Then Oliver was dropping to his knees, fumbling with the button of her shorts, and she helped him, panting and breathless. Once her shorts were opened, she pushed at her clothes as he pulled them down.

She got one leg out of her shorts and panties, but Oliver didn’t wait for her to finish stepping out of them. He immediately lifted the same leg onto his shoulder and covered her center with his mouth.

“Oh, fuuuuuck!” she groaned, pressing her pussy against his tongue and lips and teeth. “Fuck, yeah . . . suck me so hard, Oliver--yes, like that, yes yes yes!”

His hand gripped the thigh draped over his shoulder, his fingers tan and spread wide against her pale skin. Felicity gripped the back of his head as she rocked against his face, words falling from her mouth in one long, filthy babble. 

“God, I’m so wet . . . never so wet . . . my clit’s on fire--oh, fuck, do that again! Your teeth--ooooh . . . need more, Oliver, need something inside me--” 

The words were barely out of her mouth when he moved lower, shoving his tongue inside her, licking her inner walls and making her clench around him. At the same time, his thumb began rubbing firm, fast circles over her clit. The tension inside her ratcheted up and Felicity felt her head bang against the door as her climax ripped through her. Her whole body shook and trembled and she felt herself starting to fall. 

But Oliver caught her. Caught her in his strong arms, lifting her up and carrying her somewhere. 

Everything was fuzzy and indistinct. Everything except Oliver. She held on to him, her body weak but still aching, as he put her down on something soft. His bed? She didn’t care. 

“Oliver . . .” she breathed out, slowly opening her eyes and looking up at him. He was kneeling on the bed, gazing down at her with an expression that was full of lust and heat--but also tenderness. 

“Felicity,” he said, fumbling with his own shorts. 

In a silent request, she spread her legs and distractedly kicked off her shorts and panties. He smiled for a moment, before removing the clothing from his lower half and leaning down to cover her body with his own. 

When he kissed her, it was soft and slow and warm, making her feel like she was wrapped in a blanket on a cold winter’s day. It felt so good, it was easy to ignore the strange fluttering in her chest as Oliver slid inside her. 

And then it was nothing but her body and his body, communicating in that amazing, finish-each-other’s-sentences kind of way. Their first time, they had been in sync--but now they were at another level. 

It excited her. And scared her. 

End, Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

Laying on his back, looking up at the ceiling, Oliver Queen smiled. Because this was the best summer of his life. And that included when he was sixteen and his parents had sent him and Tommy to Europe, where they had drunk their way through ten countries in a month. 

And the reason this was the best summer of his life? The dark-haired genius sleeping beside him, her mouth open and her breathing just this side of snoring.

She was adorable. Sexy. Smart. Interesting. Felicity held his attention the way no woman--the way no person--ever had before. He had to be on his toes around her, because there was no predicting how she would react. He had wondered, with them becoming friends, if their chemistry would fade. But it hadn’t. If anything, knowing more about Felicity made him want her more. And it sure as hell seemed to be the same for Felicity. 

They had been damn near inseparable over the last week, when their flirting during the Red Sox game had exploded into another night of goddamn perfect sex. God, Felicity was an amazing woman, both in and out of the bedroom. He was starting to think there was no one else who compared to her. That she was ruining him for any other woman. 

He just hoped she felt some of the same feelings. Felicity was so fucking special. Other than his skills in bed, he wasn’t really sure what she saw in him. Because he knew what he was: a fuck-up. He was trying to be better, but it was like walking up a hill that was covered in grease and ice. The smallest thing could send him sliding back.

And he didn’t want to go back to being Ollie. Becoming Felicity’s friend . . . it made him want more. Made him want to _be_ more. And now that they were sleeping together, that conviction and determination was even stronger. 

Giving his head a shake, Oliver rolled over and pulled Felicity towards him. She murmured, her lips smacking together softly, before she buried her face in his neck. “Mmmmm . . . ‘s early.” Her words were soft and mumbled. 

“I know. Go back to sleep, baby,” he said softly, the endearment slipping out to his surprise. 

Felicity lifted her face and looked up at him, one eye screwed up. “Baby?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t call you that because I forgot your name--you’re Felicity,” he said, brushing some hair out of her face. 

“Good answer,” she said, curling back in against him. 

Something he had discovered about Felicity that he wouldn’t have learned as her friend: she was _not_ a morning person. Which was just another adorable thing about her. Like her love of chocolate chip pancakes.

Speaking of which--

“Felicity,” he whispered softly in her ear. “Y’know, the diner is open.” 

“Sleeeeeeep,” she whined, her hand weakly batting at him. 

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” he murmured, grinning as he spoke. 

With a huff, she rolled over and looked up at him. “You don’t play fair, Queen.” 

Grinning, he kissed her. “C’mon. I’ll buy--and I’ll make sure the coffee doesn’t stop flowing.” 

“You better,” she said grumpily, before lifting her hand to bring his face back down for another kiss--this one slower and sweeter. The perfect way to make sure it was a good morning, Oliver thought to himself. 

Especially since Felicity wore another pair of small shorts--this time a pair of denim cut-offs that did amazing things for her ass and her legs--and a tight red tank top. His eyes had nearly fallen out of his head when she walked out of the bathroom looking like that, and Felicity had smirked at him. “Eyes up here, Oliver,” she said, gesturing to her face. 

“You’re wearing more color,” he said, trying to cover his reaction to her--because Jesus Christ, he had seen every inch of her body, he should have more control over himself when it came to her. 

And then she walked towards him, her hips swaying a little, and he told himself that control was overrated. 

“I felt like it,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “And it’s so hot out.” 

He nodded, his eyes sweeping over her and his hands settling on her hips. “Thank God for global warming.” 

“Oliver,” she protested as he pulled her in for a kiss. One that he was in no hurry to stop. But when his hands began to slide from her hips to her ass, Felicity broke away. “Nuh-huh. You woke me up and promised me pancakes. Nothing’s going to happen until I get my pancakes.” 

“And then?” he asked, letting his hands dance up her sides and brush against the sides of her breasts, which he knew would make her shiver. 

“Later,” she said, her voice oh-so-slightly breathy. “Food first.”

Grinning, he pulled back. “Okay, princess.” 

Felicity smacked his shoulder and they headed out to the diner. But his eyes kept taking her in. Wondering why he couldn’t look away today. She just seemed more . . . confident. Not that she hadn’t always been confident. But this was different. Less defensive and in-your-face, more quiet and real. Like instead of playing some kind of part, her true self was coming out. 

It turned him on, seeing her self-belief, because it was practically visible. It was in how she held herself and how she argued with him. Something about her had gentled into pure strength, he thought. It reminded him a little of his mother, actually. In a less creepy, less Oedipal way. 

“You’re quiet,” Felicity said once they were in their booth, Oliver choosing to sit beside her rather than across from her. “Everything okay?” she asked, resting her hand on his knee. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he said quickly, kissing her for good measure. Gesturing to the waitress, he pointed to their coffee cups before smiling at Felicity. 

Her eyebrow raised, she waited until the waitress had filled their mugs, taken their food orders, and they had fixed their coffee to their individual tastes before saying anything to him. “You sure? You’re not worrying about your classes or anything?”

Shrugging a shoulder, Oliver snagged a menu and glanced over it. “A little, I guess. I’ve got my midterm in psychology coming up.”

“You’ll do great,” Felicity said, her hand lightly stroking his knee and thigh. “With doing your assignments and going to class, you’ll find that tests are a lot easier.” 

Oliver couldn’t help smiling at her. “Is that so?” 

“Yep,” Felicity said, leaning in to kiss him slowly. Staying close to him, she said softly, “And if you get a good grade, you’ll get a reward.”

Well, that made parts of him come to attention. “Yeah?” he asked, dropping his arm over her shoulders--a move he had really gotten into with her. She fit so perfectly against his side, and she liked having him close like that. Laurel had always said he was being patriarchal and possessive when he put his arm around her shoulders.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, her hand beginning to stroke the inside of his thigh. “Been thinking about it lately. The kind of prize you might like.” 

Licking his lips, Oliver reached out and lifted his coffee cup, trying to act normal. Because Felicity’s hand was moving not-very-innocently over his leg, and while the diner was fairly crowded, it wasn’t _so_ crowded that no one would notice if she--

The back of her fingers brushed against his cock and Oliver nearly choked on his coffee. 

“Put down your coffee cup and look at me,” she said softly in his ear, her breath washing over his skin and making him shiver. 

As casually as he could, he put his mug down and turned his head to face her. When his eyes met hers, he nearly moaned. Because God, she was beautiful: her hair so dark against her pale skin, her eyes so big and blue, her lips full and red--not dark purple like she used to look, but now as red as her tight-fitting shirt--and he had to kiss her. 

Like every other time they kissed, she met him eagerly, her lips and tongue moving against his and making him feel this sense of . . . completion. Like each time he kissed her, he was coming home.

But then she pulled back and pressed a few kisses along his jaw, until her lips reached his ear. “If you do well on your test . . . I would meet you in your classroom. I’d wear a skirt. A short one.” 

“Felicity,” he hissed out, not looking away from her. 

“That’s it--keep looking at me. No one can see anything,” she reassured him. Her fingers danced from his thigh to his stomach to his groin, feather-light and maddening. “Just think about your present. Me, in my short little skirt . . . bending over, right in front of you, to pick up a pen.”

He sank his teeth into his lower lip--whether to control his reaction to her fingers or her words, he didn’t know. Because . . . damn it, he could see what she was describing. The way the skirt would stretch over the globes of her ass, the way her legs would be parted enough for him to see her breasts hanging low, begging to be cupped by his hands as he pressed his hard, aching cock against the cleft of her ass. 

But then there was her hand, growing bolder, stroking him through his shorts. 

“I would let you take me from behind, leaning over the teacher’s desk, rubbing my ass against you. You would fuck me so hard, your dick would feel so good inside me, going so deep--deeper than ever before,” Felicity said, her voice low but her words coming fast. Her cheeks were flushed, and he knew she was as turned on as he was. 

He gripped her shoulder harder, wishing he could move lower and squeeze her breast. As if she knew what he wanted to do, her hand cupped him through his clothes, rubbing against him with firm pressure. 

“F-Felicity,” he panted, his eyes flicking away from hers in time to see their waitress approaching, carrying plates of food. “We--stop--” 

Quick as a wink, she pulled her hand away from his crotch and put some room between them, just as their food arrived. She gave him a smile that was equal parts apologetic, proud, and cocksure. Which . . . of course she was--she was very sure about his cock right now. 

“My place is closer,” she told him as she forked up a huge bite of chocolate chip pancakes.

Watching her eat, his mind completely muddled thanks to the situation in his pants, it took him a minute to put the pieces together. “Hey--wait--this isn’t punishment for waking you up, is it?”

She opened her mouth, clearly ready to deny it, then looked sheepish. “Maybe a little?”

“Jesus,” Oliver breathed out, staring at her. “Remind me to never make you really angry. I’d be lucky to wake up with only a dead horse’s head in my bed.” 

Her laughter was like bells--it made him smile, even though his cock ached in his pants. 

At least she made it clear she wasn’t holding much of a grudge against him. Because when they got to her place, she immediately sucked him off, giving him a blow job for the ages. 

XXX

God, they were playing with fire. And Felicity couldn’t even find it in herself to care. 

Well, no, she did care. Especially when she had to leave a thong behind in the classroom where she had surprised Oliver after he got an A on his psychology midterm. 

He hadn’t suspected that she really would meet him in a classroom like she had told him she would. And she was surprised that she actually went through with it. But something about having sex with Oliver in the classroom, knowing that anyone could have walked in and seen what they were doing . . . could have seen just how hot they were together . . . 

It made her even wetter. Oliver had slid into her so easily, he had moaned in a way she had never heard from him before. 

And it made her want to raise the stakes. 

They kept teasing each other in public, finding out where the point of no return was for each of them. But they had backed off in the last two weeks due to their classes. Oliver had been working so hard--harder than he ever had before, she could tell. And his hard work was paying off, because he was learning, applying his new knowledge and growing confident in his skills. 

It made her stomach clench in a very different way, the pride and admiration and respect she felt when she looked at Oliver, bent over his textbooks, his lips pursed as he tapped a highlighter against the desk. 

She had her own classes, which weren’t that difficult for her, but they did take some of her attention. All of that meant they had kept sleeping together . . . but they hadn’t been working each other up in public and then dashing back to whichever apartment was closer. And some nights--they didn’t even have sex. They would both be so tired that they would just curl up together, Oliver spooning her, making her feel safe and warm and whole. 

No. Not safe. Because their finals were nearly here, and after that, Oliver would be going back to Starling City. It was one thing for him to get into Harvard for summer school, but he wasn’t a real student there. He wouldn't be staying after he took his finals. 

So Felicity was making plans for how they would mark the end of the summer and the end of . . . whatever they had. 

Even though she knew Oliver had changed, she was all too aware that once he was back in Starling, or when he had moved on to another college, he would forget about her: out of sight, out of mind, after all. And she was okay with that. Really. It was crazy that she had become friends with a one-night stand. It was even crazier that they had picked up from where they had left off and found that their sexual chemistry was even better with being friends. 

They had always been an impossibility. Expecting what they had to last beyond the summer--expecting even their friendship to last--was just stretching the boundaries of reason and logic and belief. 

But if this was it, she wanted to make it something special. And she knew just what she wanted to suggest to Oliver. 

Knocking on his door, Felicity juggled the bag of Chinese food in one hand with the bag of chips and candy in the other hand, while trying to hoist her sliding backpack onto her shoulder. When he opened the door, Felicity let her backpack go, feeling too amused at the sight of Oliver. 

His hair was spiky, looking like he had been running his fingers through it. His jaw was shadowed with stubble--a surprisingly good look on him--and his clothes looked rumpled and stained. 

“Wow, did you fall into a finals hole,” she said, smiling at him. “Thank God I got here when I did.” 

Oliver blinked at her, then ran his hands through his hair. _Bingo_ , Felicity thought as she saw how the spikes got spikier. “What?”

“You’re in a finals hole. When you’ve been studying so much for so long, you don’t even realize what you’ve become,” Felicity said, carrying everything into his apartment. Which bore all the signs of someone in a finals hole: stale air, messy with trash, and dimly-lit. 

“I . . . I guess I have,” Oliver said slowly, looking around his place like he was seeing it for the first time. His gaze flicked to her, an embarrassed expression crossing his face. 

“Why don’t you go shower and then we can eat and talk a little? Take a break and you can go back to your studying with a nice, refreshed brain,” Felicity urged him, setting down her bags and pushing him towards his bathroom. “Because I gotta say, I’m not kissing you like that.” 

As she hoped, that made Oliver smirk a little. “I bet I could make you want to kiss me.” 

“You probably could,” Felicity admitted with a grin. “But time’s a-wasting and the Chinese food is getting cold. Now go,” she said, lightly slapping his ass. 

Oliver laughed, sounding a bit rusty, and then lightly kissed the top of her head. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” she said cheerily, trying to remember that in a few days, this would all be over. “What are friends-with-benefits for?”

Something flashed through Oliver’s eyes, something dark and hard and bitter, but it was gone before Felicity could really examine it. He just nodded and went into his bathroom. 

While he showered, Felicity cleaned up a bit and opened the windows. Which were not girlfriend actions, she told herself. Honestly, it was really for herself, because it was kinda hard to think about Oliver and sex while in a pigsty. 

When he came out of the bathroom, his hair damp, wearing just a pair of cargo shorts, Felicity felt her mouth go dry like always. Because . . . damn, he was gorgeous. Not overly ripped, but you could tell he worked out and he knew what he was doing. How many times had she kissed her way over each ridge and bump of his abs? Not enough. 

But she wasn’t sure there would ever be “enough” when it came to kissing his abs, running her hands over his defined biceps, grabbing that amazing ass and squeezing as he thrust hard and fast into her.

_Stop thinking like that, Smoak!_ she warned herself as she walked over to Oliver and kissed him softly. “Mmm, better,” she said, giving him a bright smile. 

“Thanks,” he said with his own smile before walking over to the Chinese food. “I realized in the shower that I’m starving.” 

“Me, too,” she said, helping him go through the bag. “I brought over other supplies, too, in case you needed them. Some chips, some candy, all the essentials to give you that final push.” 

Oliver stopped, a container of sesame chicken clutched in his hands. “You . . . you brought me finals snacks?”

Damn it . . . _that_ was too much like a girlfriend. Felicity tried not to let her dismay show on her face. “Just buttering you up for something I wanted to ask you. I had an idea about how we can celebrate the end of finals. And it’s a bit out there, so--”

“Would it be better as a surprise?”

Better as a surprise? Felicity blinked at Oliver’s interruption. “What?”

Oliver was very focused as he went through the food, selecting his choice, and then preparing to dig in. His eyes never wavered from opening the container and rubbing his chopsticks between his hands. “I just thought . . . you might like to surprise me.” 

“Oh,” she said, setting down a box of noodles. “I . . . I think you’d like it either way, so having it be a surprise might make it even better.” 

“Then surprise me,” he said, lifting his head and meeting her eyes. “I trust you.” 

His words were like a punch to her gut. She knew her lips parted in shock and she couldn’t look away from him. 

Because . . . he trusted her? Why did those three simple words make her stomach churn and her hands go sweaty?

“Felicity?” 

“Yes!” she yelped quickly. “I mean--okay, yeah, I’ll . . . I’ll surprise you. Your last final is on Wednesday, right? So’s mine. So once you’re done, call me and I’ll tell you what to do. Okay? Sound good?” 

“Sounds good,” he said, shoveling sesame chicken into his mouth. “How’s your classes?” 

It was such a pedestrian question--college student small talk. But it let Felicity answer him with a small part of her brain, let her carry on a whole conversation about studying and the differences between MIT and Harvard, all the while most of her brain was taken up with trying to figure out what she was feeling. 

Because . . . Oliver trusted her. 

XXX

It was a strange feeling, walking out of a classroom and feeling good about his work. Like he had done his best and his best was enough to merit a good grade. Oliver couldn’t remember the last time he had felt proud about something that really mattered. 

But that was how he felt: proud. And he knew he wouldn’t have gotten here if it hadn’t been for Felicity.

Felicity, who he was supposed to leave in two days. 

And just like that, the good feelings evaporated and were replaced with the same creeping despair that he had been fighting for the last week. Because he didn’t want to leave Boston, didn’t want to give up Felicity. But he had no idea how to tell her that. How to tell her that he didn’t want to be just friends, or friends-with-benefits. 

He liked who he was with Felicity. He felt like Oliver with her, when he was in her orbit. Not Ollie, not anymore. And he was worried that if he left, he’d revert back to Ollie. Go back to his old playboy ways, lose this self-awareness he had gained over the last two months. 

There was another reason for not wanting to leave Boston. For not wanting to leave Felicity.

Oliver thought he could be in love with her. 

Even though he had said “I love you” dozens of times to Laurel--had even said it to a handful of other girls--he knew his feelings for Felicity were so much bigger and stronger and _more_ than whatever he had felt before. He knew now that he had never been in love before . . . but he wasn’t sure if what he felt now was love, either. 

And he wasn’t sure he was ready to figure it out, since clearly, Felicity didn’t see him like that. She liked hanging out with him, she definitely liked having sex with him, but . . . 

Rolling his shoulders, Oliver pushed aside all of those thoughts. He had just finished his second final and he was pretty sure he had passed both exams. And Felicity was waiting for him, ready to kick off whatever surprise she had planned for them. 

He was curious about that, he admitted. Especially since Felicity had done so much to help him out while he was studying for finals. Her actions had been a lot like things Laurel had done for him. But while with Laurel he always got the sense she was checking up on him, making sure he wasn’t doing anything he shouldn’t be . . . with Felicity, it had been completely motivated by her concern for him. 

God, he was comparing Felicity to his ex-girlfriend. That was a bad, bad idea. 

Taking out his phone, Oliver sent Felicity a quick text. His phone beeped almost immediately, with Felicity telling him to meet her at a T station on the Blue Line in two hours. _And bring a bag with clothes for tomorrow_ , she signed off her message. 

Huh. Given Felicity’s lack of cash--something he had noticed right away but had acted like he hadn’t, to protect her pride--he didn’t think she had planned some kind of getaway for them. But since it was a surprise, he was willing to go along with what Felicity had told him. 

Honestly, if Felicity told him to do something, he almost always found himself doing it. And if he didn’t, he usually wished he had. 

So he stopped by his apartment and threw some clothes in a duffel, added his iPod and made sure his phone was charged. Then he headed out to meet Felicity at the T, twilight beginning to fall over the city.

When he found her, her back was to him, so he could take an extra moment to drink her in. Her long, toned legs, in a pair of white shorts. Her torso covered by a flowy tank top in shades of blue and green. Her dark hair done up in a messy bun, revealing the line of her neck. The beat-up bag over her shoulder, the mat rolled up under her arm. 

She was beautiful. And his heart gave a rapid little pulse when she turned and caught sight of him. 

“Oliver!” she called out, coming to meet him. “Hey, how’d it go?”

“Okay, I think,” he said, leaning in to kiss her lightly. “What about your finals?”

“Piece of cake,” she said with a grin. She took his hand, tugging him towards the platforms. “C’mon, let’s get our train.” 

Oliver laced his fingers through hers, wanting to keep holding her hand. Now that their time together could be counted in hours, he was going to indulge in all the things he normally didn’t let himself. Like holding Felicity’s hand.

The smile she gave him was shy but so happy, Oliver felt a flicker of hope. That maybe he would find a way to bring up what he was feeling. Get a read on what she was thinking. 

“So where are we going?” he asked her, swinging their joined hands.

“I should keep you in the dark,” she said, still smiling at him. “But I suppose I can give you this much. We’re going to Revere Beach.” 

Blinking, he looked at his watch. “Isn’t it kinda late to be going to the beach?”

“The reason we’re going, it’s better that it’ll be dark by the time we get there,” Felicity said, her eyes sparkling and her smile turning cheeky. 

His eyebrows went up and he stared at her. “Felicity . . .?” 

She waited until they were on the train, in a corner of the car, before pulling him in close to her. “Remember the time in the classroom? How hot it was?” 

Like he would ever forget that. It wasn’t even so much that Felicity had spun a fantasy about them having sex in a classroom before it happened. It was just . . . being with her in a place that wasn’t private? In a classroom they shouldn’t have been in? His cock had been hard as nails and Felicity’s pussy had practically been dripping. 

“I remember . . .” he said slowly, letting his free hand rest on her lower back, keeping her close to him. 

“I want to do that again. On the beach, feeling the breeze on my body, hearing the waves as you thrust into me, looking up at the stars as I come . . .” Her voice was soft, seductive, as lulling as the ocean. And holding as powerful a pull over him.

It was pretty clear that Felicity had never had sex on a beach. Not with all the romance she was spinning right now. Because Oliver _had_ fucked someone on a beach, and all he could remember was the sand. So much sand. 

But this was Felicity. He bet she had done research, finding the best way to have sex on the beach, to the point where she had researched which beach near Boston was the best one for that purpose. 

And he would be lying if the thought of having sex with Felicity in public, seeing her skin in the moonlight as she rode him hard, wasn’t making his cock harden in his shorts. 

“Yeah?” he asked, searching her face. “You wanna have sex out in the open, where anyone could walk by while I’m deep inside you?” 

Her eyelashes fluttered and she took a deep breath before nodding. “Yes. It--I thought it was a good way to celebrate the end of finals.” 

She was going to kill him. Felicity Smoak might be the only woman on Earth who wanted to celebrate the end of finals with public sex, not a fancy dinner paid for by the billionaire she was dating.

Not that they were dating. And he needed to stop thinking about this. 

Oliver leaned in and brushed his nose against hers. “I agree,” he said softly. 

It wasn’t what he wanted. But the bright smile she gave him, and the prospect of having another night with Felicity, would be enough.

XXX

As they stepped out of the Revere Beach T station, Felicity felt her nerves reappear. Not that they had ever fully gone away, since the moment she had received Oliver’s text earlier today. Because . . . because this idea was crazy. It was quite likely to end with them getting arrested and/or giving someone horrible emotional scars. 

And worst of all, she knew she was doing this so she could ignore her feelings. Ignore what her heart had been trying to tell her since her first night with Oliver, ignore what it had been saying once they had become friends. And especially once they resumed their sexual relationship.

This wasn’t a one-night stand. Or friends-with-benefits. This was more. Much, much more. And she didn’t want Oliver to leave. 

But everyone left. It was what happened. And Felicity didn’t know if she could bear Oliver leaving if she admitted just what she felt for him. Even if it was only to herself. 

She wouldn’t say the words. She wouldn’t even think them. But she knew she felt them and tonight was her only chance to show how she felt to Oliver. 

“So . . . how is this going to work?” Oliver asked, holding her hand. He had been doing that all night, making her stomach flutter.

Felicity blinked, then focused on Oliver’s question. “I read some stuff, so we just need to find a secluded bit of beach--there’s a few spots that were recommended.” 

Oliver ducked his head, but not before she saw him smiling. “Lead on, then.” 

“Okay,” she said, going up on her toes to kiss him. What she meant to be a quick peck turned into a long, slow kiss, her body melting against Oliver’s. God, she l--liked kissing him.

“Time’s a-wasting,” she said, pulling away from his lips and adopting a peppy tone. She hoisted up her backpack, moving towards the beach. Other than taking the large, rolled-up beach mat from under her arm, Oliver followed her without delay. 

Taking out her phone, she used it to find the GPS coordinates of the first potential spot. Near the Great Ocean Pier, there were shadowy, secluded spots. She guessed that homeless people normally used all of these alcoves for sleeping, but tonight, they were in luck. There was a piece of hard-packed sand, tucked up against the base of the pier, that was hard to see unless you were right on top of it. And it was empty. 

“This is it,” she told Oliver, a sense of giddy anticipation drowning out her nerves and worries for the moment. She smiled and kissed him quickly, gripping his shirt. She couldn’t believe he was going along with this--and she couldn’t wait to really get this started. 

And Oliver seemed just as eager, because he dropped his bag and the mat before wrapping his arms around her, pulling her in against him and devouring her mouth with his. 

Moaning, she held on to him as his hands ran over her. When he cupped her ass, she gasped against his lips. 

“Felicity,” he panted, his hands squeezing her, making her feel the power of his body. He could lift her up and hold her against one of the pilings, he could make her hover on the edge of climax for hours, he could pound into her and make her scream. 

But he was also the most tender, most unselfish, most giving lover she had ever had. 

Her mind idly mused on how silly a word ‘lover’ was, even as her body was pulling him down on the sand. Needing to have him pressed against her, his warmth and weight making her feel sparks all over. 

“Felicity,” he said again, this time on a chuckle. “Lemme put the mat down--trust me--”

“I--I do,” she stuttered out, looking up at him. 

Something about her agreement made him moan, made him kiss her even though he had been trying to slow them down, made her feel like the tables had been turned. Because this kiss was hot and needy, his mouth open against hers, his tongue sliding between her lips. But . . . it was also possessive. Like he was claiming her. 

Her body felt like it was on fire, just from his kisses. His hands, rubbing her sides and gripping her hips and squeezing her ass, made the fire grow even hotter and brighter. She wasn’t going to last long, and they hadn’t even gotten any of their clothes off. 

“Oliver--Oliver, you’re right,” she said, pushing against his chest a little once she had managed to catch her breath. “Let’s do this right.” 

He gave her a lazy, contented grin. “I thought we already were,” he said, slowly pushing himself to his feet. He was so tall, standing over her, but she felt so safe with him. 

Safe enough to do the craziest sexual act in which she would ever participate. 

Scrambling to her feet with a smile of her own on her face, Felicity helped him lay out the mat. “So let me guess, you’ve had sex on a beach before?”

“Guilty,” he said, helping her cover the mat with a sheet she had in her bag. “But this is already a million times better. Because of you.” 

Felicity wrapped her arms around him, slipping her hands under his t-shirt to stroke his lower back. His skin was warm, jumping a little under the touch of her hands. “For me, too. I mean, it’s better having you here.” 

His eyes were warm and very, very blue as he leaned in to kiss her. It was slow and soft, filled with gentleness. It was . . . intimate, in a way their kisses had never been before. And she didn’t want to stop kissing him. 

Oliver drew her down on top of the mat, him laying on his back and her straddling him as they kept kissing. The warmth of this moment began growing hotter and hotter, and finally she tore her mouth from his and sat up enough to pull her tank top over her head, leaving her in a bright pink bra. 

“God, you look good in bright colors,” he said, his hands lifting to trace the bra’s straps and the top of the cups. His fingers were so warm in the cooling air, she arched her back slightly to push her breasts against his hands. 

“Yes . . .” she breathed out softly, rubbing her breasts against his hands. His fingers moved, finding her nipples through the bra and rolling and pinching them. Felicity closed her eyes and let her head drop back, still pressing against his hands as she rocked herself against his stomach. And then she felt wetness surround her left nipple, as Oliver began sucking on her through her bra. 

“Yes!” she said again, no other word making sense in this moment. Not with the wet lace rubbing against her nipple, not with the warmth of Oliver’s mouth making her lose all control. She kept rocking, but with his new position to suckle on her, she wasn’t getting as much friction, but she needed more--she needed _him_ \--

Reaching down, she grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it up. Oliver lifted his head and his arms long enough for her to pull the garment off, then began attacking her other nipple. Felicity grabbed hold of his shoulders, digging her nails into his muscles and squirming on his lap. 

His hands began smoothing over her back, in long strokes, making her feel tiny and protected in his arms. She kept moving against him, soft whimpers falling from her lips as his sucks grew harder. And then his teeth began to lightly press against her, and Felicity’s hands flew behind her back. 

“Oh, fuck, more--” she gasped, getting her bra undone and tossing it aside. Then she slid her hand into his hair and pulled him to her, cupping one of her breasts as she offered it to him. 

Oliver’s groan, muffled against her breast, was still very loud. But she didn’t care--oh, God, how she didn’t care, not when he was _nipping_ at her, sending bolts of pleasure straight to her core. 

And then the fucking amazing beautiful bastard stopped.

XXX

It was all too much. They had barely started, and already he was ready to come, ready to confess everything he was feeling, ready to do anything she asked of him if she would just maybe consider loving him back. 

So he had to stop. He flopped back against the mat and looked up at her. Taking in the moonlight falling over her skin, how very red her nipples were even in the pale light. With her pale skin, what he had done to her breasts stood out. She would probably have hickies there in the morning.

Good. He wanted her marked. He wanted her to bear signs of him on her body, wanted there to be evidence, even if it was fleeting, that for a while, Felicity had wanted him. Him, Oliver Queen, colossal screw-up. Unworthy of her time and attention and love. 

But for a moment, he could be what she needed, what she wanted. 

God, why was he thinking like this? Now, when he had so little time left with Felicity, when he was trying to make her fantasy come true. Oliver didn’t know, but he did know that he was going to give Felicity what she wanted. 

“You stopped.” 

Felicity’s voice is low and soft. She was leaning down, her hands braced on either side of his head, and now she was brushing her nose against his face. His chin, his cheeks, his nose. It’s so tender that he feels like he could die. 

Without his permission, his hands rise and began stroking her back, savoring how big his hands are and how much of her he can cover. If their positions were reversed, he could cover her body with his and keep her close to him.

“Umm . . .” he began, intending to come up with some kind of reason for why he had stopped. But then she began peppering kisses over his face, and then his neck and collarbones and shoulders, and Oliver found he didn’t have the words. 

Her mouth was so soft against his skin. Delicate, like a silk scarf brushing against him. To counter the gentleness of her mouth, her hands gripped his biceps, then began running up and down his sides, her fingers digging into him. It was just so Felicity. Warm softness mixed with firm command. 

Because she made him stand at attention, ready for whatever she would next do to him.

Which was suck on his nipples, like he had sucked on hers. Oliver drew in a deep breath, rocking up against her. Felicity met his movements, her hips swirling to bring her pussy against his groin, and he groaned.

“You like that?” she asked, lifting her head enough to look up at him, a smile on her face. 

“I like you,” he said, reaching out for her face. He pulled her mouth to his, kissing her hungrily. Felicity let out a happy-sounding sigh against his lips and Oliver closed his eyes. And let himself fall. 

There were kisses and touches and licks and sucks and softly-muttered words. Clothes being shed and skin rubbing against skin. The air was cool against his flesh, but his body felt like it was burning up. Burning up from Felicity. 

And then he was yanked back into the moment when Felicity rolled off of him and pulled him on top of her. He held himself up with his elbows and knees, gazing down at her. Her hair was spread out underneath her, the black strands very dark against her skin. Her eyes were bright and her lips were red and swollen from his kisses. 

“I need you inside me,” Felicity said, gazing up at him. “I need you deep inside me.” 

“That’s what I need, too,” he said, leaning in to cover her mouth with his. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, tilting her head back to give him a better angle. If he could make her his with a kiss, that was what he was doing. And the deep intimacy made the fire between them, the fire that had been waxing and waning, leap into bright, blazing life. 

Felicity wrapped her legs around him, opening herself to him. Her warm, soft, wet pussy slid against his groin, making them both groan. He couldn’t look away from her face as he rocked against her, drawing out the anticipation of the moment when he would slide inside her. For the last time they would get to do this. 

Oliver knew that this had to be the last time. Nothing would be able to match this. Not when he was saying goodbye to her with every touch and kiss. 

“Oliver--Oliver, please,” she whispered, tightening her thighs around his waist in order to press up against him. 

“Yes, Felicity,” he replied, refusing to let her wait any longer for what she wanted. He slid into her slowly, going all the way until he was fully seated in her and he felt like he had vanished into her. 

Her eyes fluttered but stayed open and fixed on his face. One of her hands lifted from his shoulders to lightly stroke his cheek. “Oliver,” she said, sounding like she was saying something that he couldn’t figure out. Not at this moment. 

Instead, he just turned his head to kiss her fingertips as he began to move inside her. Going slowly, building them both up, stoking the fire. 

And through it all, Felicity kept looking at him. And he looked at her, knowing that everything he was feeling was in his eyes and not caring. Because this was the last time and this was the only way he could tell her how he felt. 

Then Felicity trembled and clenched around him, and he knew the time for slowness was over.

Lifting himself up onto his hands, he thrust hard and fast into her, Felicity gasping underneath him. “Yes! Yes, Oliver . . . oh, you’re so hard . . .”

“Hard for you,” he panted. Normally he didn’t talk much during sex, but this time, he wanted to tell her all the things he normally held back.

Nearly all the things. 

“You’re so wet--so hot. So good. Make me so happy,” he muttered, slamming into her as fast as he could. 

She let out a soft, long moan and tugged on his shoulders. “Oliver--Oliver--” 

“Want you always,” he said, staring into her eyes. “Will always need you--Felicity, don’t want this to stop--” 

Her body was beginning to tense and he knew her climax was nearly upon her. And his balls were drawing up, his movements getting jerky and rough as his own control was slipping away. 

“Oh, Goooood,” she moaned. “Oliver--”

The sweat ran down his face and his back. Her thighs trembled as they clenched around him, her fingers spasmed against his arms as she held on to him. He needed to be closer to her. 

Lowering himself back to his elbows, Oliver kissed her before he let himself thrust even harder. Felicity’s eyes widened. “Oh, there! Yes, there!”

Knowing what he had to do, Oliver kept thrusting, kept working to hit that same spot that made Felicity let out a stream of words, none of which made sense to him right now. And then, on a thrust that was just a bit harder than all the other ones, Felicity clenched around him, her mouth opening on a wordless scream of pleasure. 

Felicity came so hard, her face awash with emotion and sensation, all caused by him, that Oliver couldn't control himself. He let go, his climax spilling out of him. 

Just like the words he had been trying not to say.

“Felicity--Felicity, I love you--love you!”

XXX

Could the most amazing climax of your life make you hear things? 

She wasn’t sure, but Felicity didn’t think she had heard anything that hadn’t actually been said. She didn’t think she could have imagined how good it would sound for someone to tell her that he loved her. 

Even if it was in the throes of passion, as the romance novels put it. That didn’t matter to her. Because . . . Oliver had said he loved her.

The dream she had--the dream she hadn’t wanted to accept that she had . . . it had come true. Oliver loved her--maybe more than she loved him, because he had been willing to say it. To tell her, even if he maybe hadn’t meant to say it. Which was scary--he would have left, being in love with her, without saying a word?

_Just like you were going to let him go without saying a word_ , her mind chided her. 

But . . . but she wasn’t sure if she loved him. She had never been in love before, had never known what it felt like. Was that what this knot of feelings were? Was that what it meant, how they had such chemistry together whether they were in bed, making each other moan, or just sitting in a diner booth, talking and laughing?

Felicity didn’t know. But something about Oliver having the bravery to say something made her feel brave enough to face her own fears. 

Because what they had just shared . . . it was more than just sex. It always had been. And it was time to stop pretending otherwise. 

After all . . . she was Felicity Smoak. She thought of herself as a confident, forthright woman, a woman who went after what she wanted, a woman who didn’t play games or lied to herself. 

Turning onto her side, she looked at Oliver. After a moment of resting heavily atop her, he had lifted himself off her, stretching out on his stomach beside her. His face was towards her, his eyes closed and his lips slightly pursed. 

He was so gorgeous. Strong and smart, caring and warm. He still had a ways to go before he would become the man he was meant to be--just like she had farther to go to become the woman she was supposed to be--but he was getting there. He was so much more than the dumb frat boy who had knocked her over two months ago. And if that hadn’t happened, she would have never known--this would have never happened--

It was a thought that made her go cold all over. Felicity shifted, moving closer to him. Her hand began stroking his back, feeling how warm and solid he was. 

After a few moments, Oliver stirred a little, his eyes slowly blinking open. And when he saw her, he smiled slowly and automatically leaned over to kiss her. 

There was no way she was going to pass up his kiss, so she let her lips meet his. But she knew it was just a matter of time until he remembered, and she was right. He tensed against her, then pulled back. She looked at him, seeing how his eyes were shuttered, and Felicity pressed her lips together. 

“It’s late. We should . . . I could get us rooms at one of those hotels,” Oliver said, gesturing towards the street that ran along the beach. “Or we could try and get back to Boston, if the T is still running . . .” 

“A room sounds nice,” she said softly, moving her hand to resume stroking his skin. “One room.”

Oliver’s eyebrows drew together, in an expression of confusion that was adorable. “One room?”

“Yes, one room,” she said, moving a bit closer to him. “Because we have a lot to talk about. A lot to figure out. Like whether you’re going to keep on at Harvard, or if I should look into transferring to CalTech.”

“What?” he whispered, pushing himself up on one arm and staring at her. 

Now that she was on the verge of saying it, those nerves of hers were back, tying up her stomach and making her palms sweat. She was probably leaving streaks of sweat over his skin. 

“I . . . I love you, too,” she blurted out. “I don’t want you to leave--or if you do go back to Starling City, I don’t want to be on the other side of the country from you. So I thought we should talk about school, along with everything else--”

She wasn’t able to say anything else, because Oliver was kissing her. He had pushed himself up, wrapped his arms around her, and drew her in for a kiss, like something out of a movie. 

It was like he was pouring himself into the kiss. It made her toes curl and her stomach flip, made her feel like she had never been kissed before. 

“Really?” he asked, pulling back and looking at her, his eyes running all over her face. Like he couldn’t believe she meant it. 

Grinning, Felicity nodded. “Really. Even if you were a douchey frat boy. But you’re not that anymore.”

The grin that appeared on Oliver’s face was like the sun coming up several hours early. “You’re not a Goth anymore, either. I changed because of you . . . and I think you changed because of me.” 

“You’re right,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around him. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

“Can I let something else go to my head?” he asked, rocking against her a little, pressing his half-hard dick against her. 

It was such an awful line that she had to roll her eyes at him, even as she laughed and moved closer to him. “What did I tell you, Oliver? No lines. God, you’re lucky I love you.”

“I am lucky,” he said immediately, tightening his hold on her. “So lucky, Felicity.”

His eyes were so wide and blue and happy that Felicity felt her grin shift into a smile, felt herself move closer to him. “As lucky as I am,” she told him softly. 

When Oliver kissed her, he was smiling, and so was she. It was so amazing that they had come this far, so amazing how they had changed and grown over the course of one summer. 

Felicity couldn’t wait to see how they kept growing over the rest of their lives. 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never had sex on a beach, and I don't know if Revere Beach is necessarily a good place to attempt it, so I hope any Boston locals are willing to overlook any geographical errors and just enjoy the fic. :-)


End file.
